Let The Wind Do The Rest
by muckfuffins
Summary: If Emma wants to bunk upon Hook's ship in Neverland, there are a few things she needs to learn about being a pirate - the first being how to dress like one. The rest comes after.


The splashing of the mermaid's fins against the shimmering water and their high-pitched giggles could be heard at the bottoms of the ship, but all Emma could see was the ripples along the calmness as the sounds echoed under the cove's rock. She watched from the railing of the ship, waiting for them to appear, but they never did – they kept their distance mostly, Hook had explained early on. "They normally object to outsiders," he had warned her. "Although they seem to have taken a remarkable liking to you."

Emma's fingers wrapped carefully around the rails; the wood was rough against her skin as they curled, and she gripped it tightly to balance herself against the light rocking of the ship. She was alone for a while, observing the surroundings of Neverland, taking in all she knew of the fairy tales of her childhood – the shimmering sea under the pale moonlight, the light of the fireflies floating around her, and the twinkling of the star – the second star, she reminded herself. Emma was still stuck in a state of disbelief; she had seen a lot of strange, far-fetched things, _one being the curse_, but she'd never imagined even for a splitting moment that she would be standing on the Jolly Roger in Neverland's mermaid lagoon.

She could hear his footsteps against the wooden planks of his ship, slow and steady as he approached from behind her, but she never turned. Emma's breath caught in her throat as she felt Hook's hand rest on her shoulder, and he squeezed delicately. "This was my home for as long as I can remember," he spoke suddenly, his voice soft – Emma heard a twinge of sorrow in his lilt and she moved her gaze downwards to her hands. "I hadn't expected to return so soon." He removed his hand from her shoulder and she could feel the warmth from his fingers as they grazed over hers, settling on the rails beside.

"How long were you here for?" Emma struggled with her quavering voice.

Hook was looking far out into the distance – at what, Emma didn't know. Still, she followed his stare out to the seemingly endless ocean, pink and gold under the Neverland sunset. His eyes glazed over when Emma leaned forward and looked into them – she saw flecks of the sun in a sea of blue. "Neverland plays with one's memories, love," he uttered under a long, dejected sigh. When Emma cocked her head to the side, he continued. "I'm wagering three-hundred years – perhaps more, perhaps less, but this was home. With the Lost Boys."

Emma licked her dry lips and pursed them together. "Is it still your home?" she asked hopefully. _Everyone deserved a place to call home_. Emma knew that better than anyone.

At that, Hook turned and bent against his ship, propping himself up on his elbow. "Home is where the heart is, darling," he said pointedly with a smile, watching her over his long lashes.

She quickly broke the stare that he had held with her and looked back to the water, inhaling sharply through her teeth. The mermaid's had quieted down now, and it seemed they had finally taken to swimming away, back to their rocks. She could see the dark outlines of their silhouettes perched atop the surface, combing through their long, dripping hair. Emma thought back to his previous comment – '_Neverland plays with one's memories_' – and what that entailed. Did that mean that Hook had lost some of his past memories after being stuck in Neverland for hundreds of years?

Emma didn't want to forget – her past was what made her who she is. As much as she despised all of it, not having a family, it only made the fact that she had everything she'd ever wanted now that much more precious to her. What about all the new memories? Her first meeting with Henry, the late nights with Mary Margaret… _Graham_…

Hook seemed to sense the intensity of the silence between them and he interrupted it with a carefree laugh, resolving some of the tension that had settled in the pit of Emma's stomach. "I'd say if you are to make this _your_ home now, we need to get you some proper dress, love." He studied her up and down, taking note of her thick wool coat and jeans. "This simply won't do if you are to bunk aboard my ship."

Emma sputtered, put off by his sudden comment. "What the hell is wrong with what I'm wearing?" She liked her wool coat, and the jeans were comfortable – a far cry from what she depicted pirates would wear. If he was going to force her into what he wanted to see her in, well, _he wasn't_. There was no way Hook was going to get her to don leather, or a corset, or a pirate hat.

"You can't wear those in Neverland," he countered, waggling his finger at her. He shook his head shamefully, _tsk_-ing loudly. "You would never fit in – everyone here would only mock you. You are to be a _proper_ pirate."

_What the hell does 'proper' mean to you_? "Proper pirate?" she mocked. "Isn't that some kind of oxymoron or something?"

Hook arched a brow and, after several seconds of stillness, eyes locked on her, he turned towards the bunks of his ship. "Come," he ordered, leaving no room for argument. Emma had no choice but to follow him below, stomping her feet in a rebellious manner against the steps. When they reached the captain's quarters below, Hook shut the door loudly behind her.

Emma had been in this room only once before their departure to Storybrooke – it was dimly lit and surrounded with brown paneled walls. The lantern on the table beside his large feather bed glimmered, illuminating the room with a soft yellow glow.

He didn't wait for her to settle in. Hook quickly went to work in one of his several wardrobes and rummaged through them, shuffling jackets, shirts, pants – any article of clothing that may have existed in a pirate's wardrobe – aside. It became clear to Emma that Hook had a notion in his head on what it was he wanted her to change into. "Ahhh," he pronounced victoriously. With a simple toss, a pile of leathers and silks landed on his bed in front of her.

"What are these?" she asked flatly. It was a mess of red and gold and black articles that Emma could not see herself in, even in the direst circumstances – _maybe_ if it was a matter of having nothing else to wear. She picked out a red silk corset embroidered with gold and turned it over between her fingers, examining it closely. "Where did you even get these? These obviously aren't for _you_." She snorted out loud at the vision of Hook tying a corset on himself.

"You aren't the only maiden to climb aboard my ship," Hook replied, taking it from her. "I've given you options of what to wear – just put them–"

"Options?" Emma interjected, her tone rising slightly. "You're basically telling me to put on pirate rags – I'm not going to call that having options. That would be 'hey Emma, do you want to wear normal clothes or clothes that other women have worn and I've stuck in my stuffy wardrobe?'"

The glower Hook shot her was almost unnerving, as if she had hit something in his gut – hard – but she didn't recoil from it. He unraveled the corset with his hook and held it out to her. "Trust me." He had said those words before, and she hadn't then. Her brows scrunched together in contemplation, trying her best to hold her unyielding composure. "Besides," he continued, and he began pacing across the room. "It was I who brought you here, on my ship. The least you could do…"

Emma snatched the corset from him and shook it relentlessly in front of her. "Fine," she snapped, not allowing him to finish his claim. "Just this once; no one hears about this." The glare she gave him was enough to send him out of the room, giving Emma one last hearty chuckle before shutting the door again with a click.

_How the hell are these clothes going to make people look at me less funny here_? She questioned to herself as she pulled each article of clothing up from the bed. Leather pants, white frilly shirts, corsets to choose from, a long coat with cuffs – what was she supposed to do with all of this? She knew nothing about fashion, let alone _pirate fashion_. "What the hell…" Emma grumbled under her breath, and she threw off her coat.

Several minutes later, after struggling with the leather, there was a knock at the door. "What?" Emma grunted, making the final knot on the corset. Hook – rudely – swung the door open, without a single hesitation and stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened a great amount, and his brows climbed high on his forehead.

He slanted against the doorframe and crossed his arms, his eyes taking in every bit of Emma that he could see, and she felt a familiar redness snake up her neck. "I told you that you would make a hell of a pirate," he said frankly, and Emma could sense the hunger in his voice that sent shivers up her spine.

"If you want me to be a pirate, you're going to have to teach me." Emma put a playful hand on her hip and faked a smile. She felt ridiculous in it all, and she didn't even know what she looked like, if she was wearing everything right – she was frightened of looking at herself in the mirror; what if she _liked_ it?

"Take a look at yourself." Hook nodded in the direction of the stand-up mirror at the foot of the bed. "That may bring about some inspiration, beautiful."

Emma tried to stifle the pink heat in her cheeks; no one had called her _beautiful_ before – Hook was the first, and the second. After everything she had put him through, and still… _No, _Emma stopped herself. _All pirates are like that_. She marched to the mirror, the new boots giving her hips a waggle, and finally glanced up from the floor – what she saw only magnified the warmth in her face. She looked… different – confident. She felt different, too.

_Oh hell, she did like it_.

"I'm going to need a hat, captain," she beamed at him. There was no harm in playing along, she supposed – how often did Emma Swan sit on the Jolly Roger as a pirate? "Arr!"

Hook jabbed a stern finger at her. "We do not say '_arrr'_ on this ship, lass."

Emma bit on her bottom lip and crossed the room to where she saw a hat sitting, collecting dust, on top of his wardrobe. From it protruded a brilliant white feather, its black brim wide and stiff. She reached for it on her tip toes and yanked it down into her hands and slid it onto her head. It was heavy, but it fit.

Hook approached her slowly from behind, and Emma twirled on her heel, holding the hat in place. "You know where that feather came from, Swan?" His fingers came up and played with the feather gently, and he readjusted the hat on her head, raising it so that they could see one another.

Emma's breath hitched as her eyes met his – a blue so breath-taking that she tried to avoid, until now. She was in his world now, and she could see it all in the sea of his gaze – Emma needed to accept that. "Where?" she sighed, not shrinking away, but Emma wagered a guess in her head.

"It's a swan feather," he confessed, and Emma felt the lump in her throat grow. She swallowed thickly past it and stared at him, lashes fluttering. "The hat was a gift – it was given to me long ago." The cheer from his voice disappeared instantly, replaced by heaviness.

Emma removed the hat from her head and cherished it against her chest, her palms spreading firmly across the brim. "I – I'm so sorry." She stumbled with her words as her heart sank, afraid that she had touched something that he didn't want touched – that perhaps the reason he kept it was because it reminded him of … _someone_ – Milah.

Hook shook his head, and a sad smile adorned his lips. "It looks good on you," he hummed with admiration. He took it from her hands and set it back on her head, pushing a lock of blond hair behind her ear. "It fits; nothing else matters, love." He gave the hat a light, playful flick and tipped it up again.

Emma shook her head, too. "No…" The words were not forming on her tongue, not going past the ever-growing lump in her throat. "I think it would look much better on you." She shed the hat, her hair sticking to the rich leather as it came off her head, and lowered it gingerly onto his black hair. Emma's hands lingered for what felt like an eternity to her. Hook looked like a pirate now – like the pirates she dreamed of as a young girl, the pirates that would take her and sail away on a ship to a faraway land… She was _in_ that faraway land now, on a pirate ship, her heart drumming loudly in her ears. _This was it – this was everything_.

Hook seemed to know what was coming. He lowered his head as Emma stood upright, arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him in close. The shadows of his face danced with the fire in the lantern as their noses grazed, their breaths mingling in a heat between them. They closed that warmth with a kiss, soft and sincere. Emma's knees buckled underneath his wet lips, and she could feel the cold metal of his hook brush against the nape of her neck, and she sighed. It was short, simple, sweet. They broke free of one another and stared, Emma's eyes flitting open against his lashes, as if neither believed it had happened, overcome with rushing waves of emotion – passion.

"No," he finally whispered. The hat was put back onto Emma's head and he smiled down at her, his blue eyes glinting again. "You're the swan, it suits you, darling." He stepped a pace back from her and reached out his hand, palm open. "Come," he commanded again, but this time, it was gentler. "The last thing you need to know of a life of pirating is how to sail a ship."

Emma felt a grin coming on, and she allowed it to surface. She ignored his hand and strut past him, wiggling her hips. "Come on, Captain." She heard him bustle up behind her as she climbed the steps to the deck. The sky was dark now, the sun fully set beneath the sea. In the sky, there were stars as far as Emma's eyes could see and beyond – to infinity. Underneath the boat, the water sparkled colours she had never seen, and behind the rock, she could hear the mermaid's sing their songs.

As they climbed to the wheel, Emma felt the gust drifting with her hair under the hat. She ran her fingers along the mahogany, worn in a beautiful sort of way. Her fingers coiled around it, and she gripped it tight. How this small wheel could steer an entire ship was a wonder – how many other people were lucky enough to have this; to know that Neverland existed past the fairy tales in the books? "Wait," she paused, and looked over her shoulder at Hook. "What about Henry? And everyone else?"

Hook smirked. "Don't you worry, Swan," he said over the sound of the waves, reassuring her. "We'll find them."

The sails fell and the draft caught them immediately, and Emma felt the lurch of the ship below. She could hear the creaking of the wood as they moved, carried by the heavy breeze. With both hands, Emma turned the wheel, and with it, the ship. "So where are we headed, captain?" she said when she'd finally regained some control – it was harder than it seemed, but he made it look so easy.

Hook moved her hand away from the wheel and replaced it with his own hand, holding it tight. "The Pixie Hollow!" He gave the wheel one good spin and the wind did the rest.


End file.
